


Stay the Night With the Sinners

by rowofstars



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Angst, Dimension Travel, F/M, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-15
Updated: 2010-07-15
Packaged: 2018-04-25 12:01:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4959823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rowofstars/pseuds/rowofstars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They both know this is wrong, they've just stopped caring. Dimension hoping Rose meets the wrong Doctor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stay the Night With the Sinners

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [the most awesome ficathon ever](http://community.livejournal.com/then_theres_us/142212.html) at [](http://then-theres-us.livejournal.com/profile)[then_theres_us](http://then-theres-us.livejournal.com/) , for a prompt posted by the most amazing [](http://momentmusical.livejournal.com/profile)[momentmusical](http://momentmusical.livejournal.com/) . I'm slowly chipping away at my Doctor Who writer's block, and this ficathon is the best thing for it. The prompt is below.

_You must be somewhere in London  
You must be loving your life in the rain_

_England - The National_

 

 

It’s raining. And wrong. Two things she seems to find with ease.

She sits on the edge of the mattress, watching him sleep in a lanky sprawl over most of the bed, the sheet wrapped around his waist, baring the lean plane of his back. She never had much opportunity before to observe him this way, peaceful and quiet. He was always moving, always kinetic, as if it really would kill him to stand still and exhale.

He’s exactly as she remembered, right down to the mole near his right shoulder blade, the freckles dotting his nose and the really _great_ hair she can never keep her hands out of. She didn’t believe it at first, that after so many failures and near misses that she would find him here.

 

 

 

_She darts back around the corner, leaning against the rough brick of the building while she tries to catch her breath. Her heart is in her throat, pounding furiously and choking the air out of her. She takes a stuttered, gasping breath and muffles a cough with her hand. Just as she is about to peek around the corner again, there he is, standing in front of her with his mouth hanging open and a hand frozen in mid ruffle, tufts of hair sticking up between his fingers._

_He breathes her name in the most astonished way and she forgets how to breathe entirely._

 

 

 

It’s just a random pocket universe, a shell wrapped around a possibility where it split from a reality, spun into being because a man got off a bus two stops too early.

She’s not convinced it really is _him_ , her version of him anyway. She’s gotten her hopes up too many times, with the police box that was more green than blue, and the wheezing groan she always hears on the wind, chasing it for a half mile and finding nothing but an old rusted lorry. She’s worn out more pairs of shoes walking the streets of a hundred Londons than she ever did running for her life.

 

 

 

_He looks so much older and sadder, like when they first met and he was still wearing the weight of his sins around his neck. She steps towards him and reaches out one hand and then the other, slipping them inside his coat and under the lapels of his suit to feel the thrum of his hearts beneath her palms._

_Tears prick at the corners of her eyes, relief shuddering through her body as she bites her lip to keep from sobbing. A smile spreads over her face but when she looks into his eyes she knows._

_This is wrong._

 

 

 

He shifts, rolling onto his side, arm stretching across the bed into an empty expanse of rumpled white cotton, still warm in the spot where she lay. She freezes for a moment, waiting for him to settle before standing and padding quietly across the room. She runs a hand through her hair and looks around for her mobile, finding it in his left shoe. He sighs in his sleep, a mumbled word, something that may have been her name, but too soft for her to understand.

She shuts her eyes and thinks about running, about snatching up her clothes and slipping out the door, leaving the memories of last night behind her. She pulls her jeans on and checks her phone, the time making the decision for her.

 

 

 

_He tastes the same, feels the same, tugs on her bottom lip with his teeth the same, fumbling behind his back with the sonic until the door snicks open. They stumble inside and she almost ends up in the closet when he misses trying to push her against the wall. She lets herself laugh then, but only for a moment, the brevity of the situation lost when she meets his eyes again._

 

 

 

He hears the dull thud of the door as it shuts, and rolls onto his back, staring up at the ceiling and silently cursing himself for having no self control. He’s glad she was the one to leave because he’s not sure he could have left her again. Though this time there’s no metacrisis version of him to secure her forever, no one that he can point to and tell himself it’s okay because she will be happy.

Maybe. Eventually.

There will be though, in her future, a year or two from now. (He’s not sure, and he never asked, how long it was for her.) In his there is only loneliness and inevitability.

 

 

 

_She’s soft and warm and as impatient as he remembers, sending three buttons flying to parts unknown when she gives up and yanks his shirt open. Her hands are everywhere, sliding over his chest and through his hair, pulling him down for a wet, gasping kiss. Then her mouth – oh her utterly brilliant mouth – follows the trail of her fingertips as she sinks to her knees and divests him of his trousers._

 

 

 

He stands at the window, trousers unbuttoned and wrinkled, watching her slip out from the alley and jog across the street. She steps up onto the curb and glances over her shoulder, as if she needs to worry who might have seen her. He wonders if she feels the same way he does, like they’ve each cheated on a memory.

Rain blurs his view of her as she cuts across the park, pausing to give the roundabout a spin as she passes. It’s a small, carefree gesture, and he likes to think that it really is that way for her now, that they are together and happy.

Maybe it’s raining there too right now; maybe they are lazing about in the soft white sheets of some posh hotel, smiling at the abysmal fall weather because it means they don’t have to feel guilty about spending the day in bed.

Or maybe, he thinks as he sneaks out the fire exit and hurries towards the TARDIS, maybe it’s bright and sunny and spring and they’ll stay in bed anyway.  



End file.
